


To the Ælfweald

by LucasApollo



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Fae & Fairies, Gratuitous Use of Old English, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:41:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26658367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LucasApollo/pseuds/LucasApollo
Summary: Felix is sick, and only an Ælfen can help them now.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	To the Ælfweald

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I don't know if I want to write new stuff for this fandom any more,  
> Also me: ok but what if...?
> 
> Warnings for gratuitous use of Old English. Translations at the end, but I think the story should be read without them first. 
> 
> Based on a tumblr text I saw.

Sylvain cared about very few things. There was Ingrid, and his favourite fair knight, Dimitri, his righteous king. Then there was Felix.

His prickly bastard  _ cópenere _ . 

Felix would probably much rather stab Sylvain than admit that he loves him, despite that fact they've been living together for several years now. 

Which is how Sylvain knows that something is absolutely wrong with him.

Felix is laying in their bed, a cool cloth on his forehead. His face is more pallid than normally, and his cheeks are flushed a bright red while eyes are glassy and focused. An old healer woman is mashing together a paste in a mortar and pestle that smells putrid while she mutters words of enchantments over it.

"Sylvain," Felix starts and then stops because he falls into a coughing fit.

Sylvain is at his side like lightning, giving Felix something to grab onto as he gasps for breath.

"I know I've never said it, but you know I love you right? You are  _ onlíese. _ "

Tears threaten to spill over Sylvain's cheeks. "I can't live without you Felix, I just can't." 

Felix smiles gently (and wasn't that an odd thing to say about him) before he promptly passes out. The old healer woman on the other side of the bed sighs deeply, setting aside the mortar and pestle onto the bedside table. 

"Things have progressed too far. The only thing that can save him now is  _ Ælfen _ Magic, but the  _ Ælfen _ haven't been seen in centuries," she says like the love of his life isn't dying in their bed and Sylvain wouldn't do anything to save him at this point.

"Where are they traditionally found?" Sylvain tries to ask as casually as he can.

"The  _ wuduwésten _ used to be called  _ Ælfweald _ , way back when," she says simply, "It's about a day's ride North from here, follow the  _ Gomel Pæþ _ ."

Sylvain looks forlornly at Felix laying in the bed, and the old healer sighs. "Don't worry  _ cneht,  _ I will keep an eye on him. Go to  _ Ælfenweald, _ find the  _ Ælfen _ and save your boy. Just don't go making any promises you can't keep; those ones are  _ frécenlicu." _

"Don't worry  _ hælend. _ Don't you know who you're talking to? I'm more likely to trick them." He winks at the woman, before sobering. "I have to come back to him. Three days. I'm coming back after three days. Keep him alive that long and there will be rewards."

Sylvain kisses Felix's hairline, soaking with sweat and boiling hot. "Three days my love, my  _ cópenere. _ I'll be back and you'll be back to death threats."

Sylvain rides hard to the north, and the  _ pæþ _ the healer had told him about is worn down and overgrown but in good enough condition for that he doesn't worry about his horses footing.

He passes through field after field of serfs working in the sun, stopping only once to eat some  _ cýse  _ and bread. He reaches the edge of the forest by dusk, and the light filtering through leaves is ethereal. The  _ pæþ _ had ended a ways back now, and it's getting difficult to tell which direction he's headed. It feels like he's the only soul out here; he has yet to see or hear any life despite feeling eyes on him. 

It's near pitch black even before what he would assume is nightfall; the trees are so dense. There is no noise but for the trot that Sylvain has slowed to, and his heartbeat thuds all around him.

Sylvain comes to a stop when he hears the slow trickle of a stream, the first noise he'd heard in this forest, and follows the noise to the water. He hops off his horse and grabs for his bronze cup taking a long drink of water and eating another piece of his  _ cýse _ followed with an apple. He's wary of the fruit and mushrooms he'd seen out in this forest, unable to recognize a single one of them.

His horse wandered and helped itself to the leaves of a nearby bush, and Sylvain sighed and gave her the last bit of his apple.

This was as good a place as ever to sleep for the night. The air was pleasantly warm, the grass soft, and the sound of the stream was a  _ giddinge _ lulling him to sleep.

He woke slowly to  _ ongalness, _ a woman's voice ringing clear as a bell through the woods. It was still black as pitch but for flitting balls of light that lead him along the stream's edge, disappearing some distance away from him. 

Sylvain can feel deep in his bones that this is  _ Ælfen _ magic.

He follows the lights for an eternity. His horse had not been there when he woke but he just knew that she was unharmed somehow. He sighs, wondering if he'd be able to keep his promise of three days. It was impossible to tell the passing of time this deep in the forest.

The singing gets louder as he walks, slowly becoming a  _ calgealdor. _ It evokes such melancholy in Sylvain that his heart breaks for the woman singing. It's only just turned into a _ lícleóþ  _ he recognizes when he reaches a clearing, the glow of the lights he had followed brightening and multiplying to the point that Sylvain has to squint as his eyes adjust.

When they do, he finds a woman still singing as she sits next to his horse, eyes never straying towards him even as he nears.

The woman is dressed rather fancily, in sand and black and lace. A veil sits over her face also made of lace and he doesn't need to see her to know that she's as beautiful as her voice. Sylvain feels not an inkling of fear as he sits on the other side of his horse and strokes her mane.

They sit like that for some time, the woman singing her  _ lícleóþ  _ and Sylvain just listening. It felt wrong to interrupt her.

When the woman stops singing the silence is deafening as it blankets over Sylvain and his heartbeat picks up a steady beat. She lifts her head to him, and he knows that she's appraising him for more than his looks.

"The  _ eoh _ speak such a beautiful language." She says softly, placing her delicate hand on the horse's nose. Her voice still sounds like it's coming from all directions. "They can tell a great many stories and are much wiser than they appear."

"There were many things this mare had to say about you,  _ geonglícan mann. _ " She pauses, looking down into the mares eyes. "Not your name, don't worry, the  _ eoh _ are much too wise for that despite the stories they spin.

"You search for  _ Ælfena _ . Not for yourself but a loved one."

Sylvain just  _ knows _ she's smiling behind her veil. 

"Do you know the cost of  _ Ælfena  _ magic?"

Sylvain shakes his head.

"I'll need your  _ frumbeaxn. _ Your firstborn." 

"Done," Sylvain says without a single hesitation. 

The woman seems affronted. "You didn't even let me finish!"

"I'd do anything for him. He'd understand." The two stare at each other. "So," Sylvain breaks the silence, "you'll help him?"

"For your  _ frumbeaxn, _ yes. Do we have a deal?"

"Deal." 

"Very well." Her hands glow golden and clasp together in a mimicry of prayer. "When you return to your home your loved one will be in pristine condition and the memory of his suffering shall fade."

Sylvain feels like he's made of light. Felix will live.

"Thank you,  _ ic þancie þe,  _ he means the world to me."

"Well, let's just hope the price wasn't too high. Only time will tell with that," the woman says cryptically. 

"So when do you want to do that? I'd prefer to hurry home to Felix first, but we may as well get it over with." Sylvain smiles sheepishly. It's been a while since he's been with anyone but Felix, but he's sure he still has it.

_ "Hwa? _ Elaborate please, human." The woman seems confused for some reason. 

"Well, you want my firstborn, and Felix has no  _ moðorhrif, _ so there's only one way that can happen.

The woman only stands there in silence as the words sink in.

"When my mare told you about Felix, did she not mention that he is my husband?"

"Well, the  _ eoh _ words for loved one can be translated in many ways! How was I supposed to know she meant  _ gamæcca  _ instead of  _ léof _ ?"

"Look, do you want that firstborn or not? If you can't decide then just come with me for now. I need to get back to my  _ gamæcca  _ now that he's healthy." Sylvain didn't have time for this. He had to know that his husband was alive and well and the itch to leave was growing by the second.

"Very well," I will join you back to your town. I need to show you out of the  _ Ælfenweald _ anyhow."

"What should I call you? Not your full name of course, but I can't just call you  _ woman _ forever." He gets his mare up to a standing position and climbs up upon the saddle.

"Call me  _ Liss _ ," she says before climbing up behind Sylvain, ignoring his offered hand of help. With a small wave of her hand the little lights that had guided Sylvain to her now would lead them out.

"Mercy, huh? I have a feeling you're going to need a lot of that."

"You're absolutely  _ earfoþrihte,  _ aren't you."

A devilish smile takes over Sylvain's face, "oh no, it's not me you'll need mercy for Liss, it's Felix."

**Author's Note:**

> So who knows who the fae is? (I feel like I made it pretty clear)
> 
> **Translations (in order of appearance):**
> 
> cópenere: lover  
> onlíese: set free or released.  
> Ælfen: Fairy  
> wuduwésten: wildwoods  
> Ælfweald: Fairy Forest  
> Gomel: Old  
> Pæþ: path, particularly an military highway  
> cneht: boy  
> frécenlicu: mischievious  
> hælend: healer  
> cýse: cheese  
> giddinge: an enchantment, a song  
> ongalness: a continuous song, continuous singing  
> calgealdor: a sorrowful song  
> lícleóþ: a funeral song  
> eoh: horse  
> geonglícan mann: young man  
> Ælfena: feminine plural of fairy  
> frumbeaxn: firstborn  
> ic þancie þe: Thank you  
> Hwa: interjective what  
> moðorhrif: womb  
> gamæcca: husband, in an equal matter  
> léof: beloved friend  
> Liss: mercy  
> earfoþrihte: incorrigible


End file.
